


You're the Last Good Thing About This Place

by HindsightHero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Fighting and General Violence, M/M, Motorcycle Road Trip, Running Away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HindsightHero/pseuds/HindsightHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between the third and fourth episode of My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding on the tiny motel tv screen you realize, you've lost all control of your life. This un-planned, highly immediate road trip with Dirk being the primary cause...among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted Striders strifing in a motel room like the idiots they are. Thats all this started out as, and then it became more.  
> Cross posted to tumblr as the Last Good Thing AU.

Somewhere between the third and fourth episode of My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding on the tiny motel tv screen you realize you’ve lost all control of your life. It wasn’t the screaming gussied up fourteen year olds on the television, and it wasn’t the fact you thought their overly embellished and neon dresses reached a point of social ridiculousness that you could genuinely appreciate.  
  
No, it was the realization that your life has become something TLC would pay boatloads to film, and that you were so desperate you might even take them up on that offer.  
  
Wait, what were you saying. Like hell you would let your life become privy to the public’s idiotic viewing pleasure of your brother’s face currently between your legs.  
  
Hell no that sight was for you alone.  
  
Though, somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if that would even get past their filters.  
  
Does TLC have some dark secret room full of all the non-PG filming they’ve done over the years?  
  
Next up on My Strange Addiction…incest! You can hear it now. ‘There’s something odd between these two twins, and it isn’t the fact they constantly try to kill each other with swords..’  
  
Well, Its not like they haven’t already had sex dolls and that one dude in love with his car, or that guy in love with inflatable pool toys, but still…you think this might be pushing it.  
  
The slow lick to the underside of your cock helps to derail the thought and you let out a higher pitched sound than intended, to which you hear a snicker in response and puff of breath grace your inner thigh.  
  
“You did not just make that sound.” the jerk says, and you do not resist the urge to smack him on top of the head.  
  
“I was distracted.”  
  
“I’m insulted.” he pauses. “…but my curiosity is peaked.”  
  
“Pool toys.” you answer, and there’s brief moment where Dirk is quiet as he racks his brain for the most likely reference and you kind of like that. You like being able to watch as his gears turn, as rare as it is. But the moment is over too soon.  
  
“Ah.” he says, and then gives a short nip to your inner thigh. “Stop thinking about collegiate virgins and tell me if we’re doing this tonight or not.”  
  
He’s blunt. Which you’re thankful for, because if he weren’t you would almost never admit to anything. Kind of like Rose, but less intimidating and more willing to humor you when you need it.  
  
But you’re still in no position to give him an answer.  
  
“But what if I  _like_ thinking about collegiate virgins?” you half whine, and it’s a horrible attempt. Its far too easy, the sarcasm not up to your usual standards. But when Dirk pulls away from your crotch at last, you know you’re kind of screwed.  
  
Or that you’ve just royally fucked this up.  
  
The look on his face says it’s the latter and you let out a groan.  
  
“I’m not gonna force you into this. “ Dirk says, and his face nearly kills you.   
  
“I don’t need forcing dude”  
  
“So what is it then?”  
  
You don’t have an answer. You wish you did, but you don’t.   
  
Its not even like it’s the first time. You’re way past that. The two of you have been fooling around for months now. Plenty of nights had been spent macking on the couch while orange Fanta spewed its contents onto the coffee table after your foot had kicked over in a fit of enthusiasm.  
  
Come to think of it you’ve spent a lot of the last month mopping up spilled soda.  
  
And quite frankly, other things, but the point you remind yourself, is that this isn’t anything new.   
  
He clears his throat, and when you look at him again you just shrug.   
  
“ TLC killed my boner?”   
  
He just raises an eyebrow and looks down at the still present hard on in between your legs and you act as if there’s nothing there. He’s clearly staring at a ghost.   
  
Finally, when he realizes that he’s not going to get any better of a response from you, Dirk runs a hand through his too-gelled hair and sighs.   
  
“Okay. Fine. I need something to do, so either we fuck or we strife, and since you don’t seem like a fan of plan A right now, grab your sword. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”  
  
He turns on his heel and heads for the duffel that had been thrown by the door and unzips it, pulling out a very familiar looking blade.  
  
You don’t bother telling him to wait, because you know this mood. From the stiff shoulders, and the too straight posture to the way he holds his mouth slightly to the right in a tense biting habit. He’s thinking too much, and you know better than to deny him a fight right now.   
  
So you let him go, and zip yourself up.  
  
Really, at this point, your cock had pretty much given up hope along with Dirk anyways.   
  
Maybe a fight is what you need too. It had been a few days, and your muscles could use the workout. Screw the fact you were in a Motel 6 with a parking lot that faced a highway and it was only 10 pm. Its not like people would call the cops on two teens swinging sharpened katanas at each other.  
  
Oh wait, no, that’s exactly what they would do because that’s what happened in Galveston last weekend.  
  
People were dumb.  
  
You look around the room, and while its small, you could easily put the lamps and alarm clock in the closet, and, yup, the bed wasn’t bolted down so you move it to the side and give the two of you enough space.  
  
Instead of grabbing your sword, you grab the room key and head for the stairwell.  
  
By the time you get outside, the humidity sticks awkwardly to your skin and the summer breeze has died down. The night is kind of just dull and smothering and dark.   
  
Dirk is in the back of the lot by your bikes and the bushes, and you watch for a moment while he warms up. He’s giving it everything he’s got, and you know it because his form is sloppy and he knows it. You watch as he repeats the same swing over and over and over. Each time, the tip of his blade drops just slightly.  
  
Wrong.  
  
You can almost hear him say it.  
  
Wrong.   
  
Wrong.  
  
 _Wrong._  
  
“Hey.” you finally say, because you can’t watch this anymore. He turns around sharply, and goes into a battle stance, only to realize there’s nothing in your hand.  
  
“What gives?” he asks, but he doesn’t lower his sword. Or course he doesn’t.  
  
“We’re not gonna run from the cops again, so we’re not gonna fight in the parking lot again.”  
  
“Galveston.” he says under his breath and finally the sword lowers, and you just nod.   
  
“Bingo.”   
  
Its not often you see Dirk look defeated, but he does. Something must have gone wrong, and you missed it. Which, doesn’t surprise you because with Dirk you tend to miss a lot. Still, you don’t want him doing anything stupid, which he looks like he might, so you quickly open your mouth again.  
  
“The room’s re-arrangeable. Play a bit of Tetris with the mattress and shit and we’ve got a decent dojo”  
  
He pauses, and does that thing with his mouth again, and you don’t realize it but you’re holding your breath until he sheaths his sword.   
  
“The ceiling will still be too low” he says, but he seems to accept it nonetheless. You’re not sure when exactly you became the more logical of the two of you, but its not really something that brings you any sort of joy.   
  
A part of you wants to ask him what’s wrong. What’s got him so messed up, but you don’t dare. Its not what you do. Its not what Striders do.   
  
Striders fight out their feelings, or fight to keep them in.   
  
So that’s what you’ll do.  
  
It’s a quiet walk up the four flights of stairs to your room. You swipe the keycard, and move to open the door as Dirk rests his sword over his shoulder with a soft clink of the metal. Absently, you take a step forward, and its only as you’re falling that you realize how fucking dumb that was.  
  
Tripping. Low blow Dirk, low blow.  
  
Fumbling forward like a god damn puppet with its strings cut you tumble to the carpet with an ungraceful thud and the nosepiece of your glasses digs sharply into the bridge of your nose.  
  
Oh, if they’re broken there will be hell to pay.  
  
You hear the door slam shut and the clink of Dirk’s sword again, and you realize now would be a fucking fantastic time to get your ass off the ground and into a better defensive position.  
  
With a quick roll to the left you narrowly escape a blade to neck, and you reach for the familiar black duffel. Shit, why hadn’t you grabbed your sword before leaving the room? Damn was that a poor lapse of judgment.   
  
Dirk doesn’t waste any time. He knows you’re fully capable of grabbing your own sword, so he doesn’t let up. With another swing, he comes down on the carpet and you do a back roll out of the way and into the cheap wooden dresser.  
  
Motherfucker does the corner digging into your spine hurt like hell. But you’ve got your sword out, and you watch as a smirk stretches at Dirk’s lips and now your blood is pumping.  
  
Aw  _hell_  yeah.  
  
Screw moving the furniture. Screw the lamps.   
  
You lunge forward, and with a loud scrape of metal your sword’s clash just inches from both your chests and its on.   
  
You break apart, and Dirk backs into the closet and for a moment you think the linoleum coated wood may have cracked, but then you can’t really bring yourself to care because Dirk’s grip tightens and your own mimics the motion.  
  
Slowly, you start to move to the right and then flash step to the top of the bed. He’s in front of you in two seconds flat, and as he swings at your legs you jump, and take the opportunity to land on top of him.  
  
The plan backfires, obviously, and the two of you just fall awkwardly on the edge of the bed and then bounce off and onto the floor.  
  
Your swords fly to the side and one makes a loud noise as it hits the metal wall heater by the window.  
  
Dirk is under your leg and he grips your ankle tightly, trying to flip you back enough to relocate his sword but you just kick him with your free leg in the ribs and take a small bit of pleasure as he yelps and releases your ankle.  
  
Naturally, you wrap your legs around his waist like a pair of crab claws on steroids.  
  
Then you promptly attempt a back roll and try to hoist him back onto the bed, but he squirms, and breaks free from your legs just in time to pin you to the bed.  
  
You decide to not let this get to you.   
  
Until he smirks down at you and leans forward, quickly pecking your lips.  
  
The fight could end there. You think you’d be okay with that. But the sound of Dirk reaching over the side of the bed and grabbing a sword makes you realize this isn’t quite over.  
  
In a desperate attempt to break free, you rock your hips up and to the side and grab the shoulder that’s holding him up and force him off of the side of the bed.  
  
He groans as he hits the heater, and frankly you don’t give a shit.  
  
That kiss was a cheap shot.  
  
You know you can’t get your sword, you don’t really know where it is but more than likely its underneath your brother which means in a few short moments he’ll have two swords and you’ll have…  
  
You look to the side.  
  
You’ll have a lamp.  
  
Goddamnit.  
  
As the sound of Dirk shifting on the other side of the room reaches your ears, you instinctively reach for the horrid pink lamp straight out of an 80’s movie and use it like a shield.  
  
You’re still standing on the bed, and slowly Dirk rises into view like a fucking kraken about the wreck your shit, only the kraken has swords instead of tentacles and instead of a monstrously sharp mouth he’s got cock-sucking lips pulled into the a snarl and damn if it doesn’t make you terrified and horny at the same time.  
  
But he lunges at you and you decide you are definitely more terrified right now, so you rely on your instincts. Which, apparently means, throw the damn lamp at his head.  
  
Oddly enough, it works because Dirk’s instincts are convenient enough that he drops both swords in order to catch the lamp.  
  
Score.  
  
You try not to laugh, and instead seize the opportunity to scurry across the bed, between Dirk’s legs and grab your own sword back.  
  
He tosses the atrocious lamp onto the bed, but it doesn’t matter. You have your sword again, and you reach up with your free hand, grab his wrist and twist it back and you gain the upper hand. In seconds you’re behind him, back against the window and you shove him forward and face first into the bed.  
  
Victory is never so sweet as when you’re straddling his ass and all Dirk can do is mumble obscenities into the cheap paisley and polyester motel bedding.  
  
The best part is he knows he can’t turn his head to the side without risking breaking his shades, so he just lays there huffing in musty hotel stank while you lean over and rest the cool metal of your blade against the back of his neck.  
  
“What that?” you start, catching your breath again, hand still holding firmly onto his wrist. “I can’t quite hear you”  
  
He yells into the mattress again and you rock your hips down.  
  
Okay, so, maybe you did just need a good fight.  
  
Dirk wiggles his free hand out from under his own stomach and reaches back. He doesn’t quite manage to grab anything useful except for your shirt but—  
  
Oh shit fuck you can’t see, help you’re drowning in a mess of sunglasses and shirt collars.   
  
In a momentary flail you forget that you’re holding onto one very important wrist, and almost immediately, Dirk breaks free and flips you over onto the other side of the bed and onto a very uncomfortable lamp.  
  
He grabs your sword, and you know its over. He’s got you. You’re dead meat.   
  
Your hips are locked in with a pair of legs straddling them, and the tip of your own fucking blade pressed against your trachea. Dirk’s huffing above you, sweat dripping and his face is red and you’d be damned if that wasn’t the hottest thing in the galaxy right now.  
  
You swallow, and the tip of the sword is cold against your neck and then it shakes.  
  
Before you know it, the sword is gone, and Dirk is on top of you with a hand on each shoulder and his lips press against yours.  
  
It’s a familiar scene.   
  
You fight, you fuck.   
  
Sometimes you just fight, and makeout a bit, and decide you’d rather just keep fighting.  
  
Which, might be what tonight is, you don’t really know. But Dirk’s on top of you, and his lips taste like sweat, and orange Fanta, and he’s biting softly, sweetly between breaths and its good.  
  
Its really good.   
  
It doesn’t matter to you if the fighting is almost more important than the screwing. With the two of you it kind of just makes sense.  
  
You’re both Striders.   
  
So when Dirk rocks his hips down, and grinds against you, It doesn’t matter that you moan and his tongue slips into your mouth.  
  
Because after a few moments you realize he’s let his guard down, and turning the tables again is a bit too tempting to just ignore.  
  
When you finally have him pinned down again, you remember how tense he was earlier, and a part of you wants to ask. You know you should.   
  
But almost on cue, Dirk breaks the kiss and the two of you are wrestling on the bed and he’s reaching for your sword and you realize…  
  
Tonight is one of those nights.


	2. You're the Last Good Thing about this Waffle House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you get the first whiff of a plot, a lot of rain, and some Waffle House antics in the form of Dirk being distracted and Dave not taking it as well as a Strider should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving right along...

Summertime in Texas is basically the shittiest season for you and its not just the fact that the sun manages to fry you like an ant trapped under the magnifying glass of a fifth grader who just discovered the meaning of sadism.  
  
No, its not just the heat.  
  
It’s the damn ever-present near omnipotent humidity that likes to manifest itself in the form of thunderstorms miraculously every time your bro and you are about to leave town.  
  
You hate riding in the rain.  
  
You really fucking hate it.  
  
Your jacket gets soaked and your shirt gets even wetter from the sheer humidity and sweat, and lets not talk about getting sprayed in the face every time some small dicked asshole in a dually decides to race past you on the interstate.  
  
The mud always gets inside the bike and fuck it-  
  
You just really hate riding in the rain, okay?  
  
But you just checked out of the Motel 6 in Kemah and in about five minutes the cleaning lady will discover the remnants of last night’s strife and the poor pink lamp that lay shattered and stuffed into the closet.  
  
Amongst other things.  
  
You ended up fucking, but it took another two hours of fighting, a sprained wrist, a cut to the cheek and a passive aggressive neighbor knocking on your door at 1 am to slip a note under the door asking you to ‘keep it down for the Lord’s sake, didn’t your mothers teach you better?’  
  
You’re almost certain the two of you only did it as a form of revenge, but you really can’t complain because its rare Dirk is so vocal and sweet baby jesus under the noonday sun do you love when he makes noises like that.  
  
Three A.M. had come and gone before the two of your bodies mutually collapsed on the bed with nothing but heavy breathing and infomercials in the background. You’re really glad that in the midst of everything, neither of you destroyed the T.V.  
  
That, and you’d have to pay for it.  
  
Dirk revs his motor and you snap out of the idiotic flashback.  
  
“Ready?” he asks, and the rain is still pouring but you mind it a little less.  
  
“Just waiting on your slow ass”   
  
He gives a short chuckle at the answer and you shut the visor of your helmet with a click.  
  
Dirk does the same, but in a quick motion of his fingers reminiscent of those shitty blockbuster action heroes.  
  
Sometimes you hate the fucker because people just don’t  _do_  that sort of thing. But somehow, with him, its effortless. You try so hard to not give a shit, to not give things away, to sit with the perfect slouch, to look cool. You’ve perfected the act but he’s perfected the being.  
  
No one else can tell, but you can.  
  
Bro could.  
  
You don’t even get the chance to dwell because there’s a familiar sound of an impatient engine and its trailing water in the street before you even look up.  
  
The bikes are just a blur of red and orange on highway 146 and its quiet for a while.  
  
A long while, actually, and as soothing as those aromatherapy spas make the sound of rain out to be, right now its just repetitive clattering on your skull and a reminder of how fucking wet you’re going to be by the time you stop for fuel.  
  
You lied earlier, you’re definitely back to hating rain with every grease clogged artery of your young teenage heart.  
  
Its not long before Dirk’s bike slows and pulls over onto the shoulder and you follow suit without a second thought. The patch of dried grass to your right is flooded over and you can barely see twenty feet in front of you at the rate the sky is vomiting water.   
  
He motions to his helmet but doesn’t lift the visor, and you know that’s code for ‘turn your fucking bluetooth on loser‘, so you do.  
  
Dirk has this thing about making your helmets as technologically advanced as possible. Which as kickin’ as that is, you have to wonder if it makes them more of a safety hazard seeing as you’re too scared to drop the helmet and that has /got/ to defeat the purpose.  
  
But the bluetooth and mp3 player are pretty fucking sweet, so you’ve never actually complained.   
  
A little red light blinks inside your visor and you hit the button to turn it on.  
  
‘Whats up?”   
  
“I’ve been calling for the last two miles dude”  
  
“Must’ve turned it off . Why’d we stop?” You don’t apologize and he doesn’t pry.  
  
“There’s a split up ahead. Pasadena Highway or the Hartman bridge.”  
  
“Where’s the highway go?”  
  
“Houston”  
  
“So why are you even asking?”  
  
He doesn’t give you an answer. Instead Dirk just ends the call and turns his engine on once more before skidding back onto 146.  
  
The two of you turn onto the bridge a half mile later.  
  
Unfortunately, the rain only gets worse and when you watch Dirk hydroplane towards the end of the bridge you’ve had enough of mother nature’s bullshit. You speed up, minding the water, and cut him off. With a quick motion you signal to the right and take the nearest exit.   
  
He follows.  
  
There isn’t a gas station, or a truck stop, but there’s a large glowing yellow beacon of hope up ahead and you think to yourself, Dave Strider, you deserve some fucking waffles.  
  
Dirk too, you suppose.  
  
The wind picks up just in time for you to roll onto the cracked asphalt and for the thunder the shake every calcium deprived molecule in your bones.  
  
It must have gotten to Dirk too, because his bike jerks forward in what you only guess was a nervous response to the sound. He doesn’t hit you, but its close and you can’t help but laugh because damn this had turned into some storm.   
  
You watch as he shuts off the bike and takes off his helmet. It doesn’t even matter that he has helmet hair because the rain instantly soaks it, and you can see him grimace.   
  
Its not that Dirk doesn’t like water. He likes it a lot more than you actually. The fact the two of you seem to only take coastal roads is entirely his doing; like being too far inland makes him uncomfortable.  
  
He likes the rain too, you think. Because his muscles aren’t as tense when its raining, and you’ve caught him sniffing the polluted acid rain with a small smile on more than one occasion.  
  
On the other hand, he really hates when the rain messes up his hair.  
  
You realize its time to stop thinking about Dirk and take your helmet off so you can actually talk to him.  
  
The moment you do, the rain assaults your scalp and the smell of a low pressure system, bacon grease and waffles rush up your nose.  
  
“Oh my dear sweet love…” you mumbles and Dirk just makes a face.  
  
“Wow, no PDA before noon” he says flatly.  
  
“I meant the Waffle House, asshole.” You punch his arm as you brush past and flip your shades back on.  
  
He does the same, and you both remotely set the bike’s security in unison with a chirp.  
  
You are long overdue for cheap diner food and rude southern waitresses with bad dye jobs.  
  
Like, a year and a half at least.  
  
Besides, its not like the two of you will be riding anytime soon. Not with the sky confusing July for the second coming of Noah’s flood.  
  
Was it even his flood?   
  
Or is it just the great flood?  
  
You don’t really know, and frankly you don’t care because Dirk is beating you inside and that’s unacceptable.  
  
With a flash step you cut him off just in time to see a middle aged woman glare at you from underneath bright blue eyeshadow behind the counter and its beautiful. Its perfect. Its just like your bad reality shows.   
  
“Mornin’ Ma’am” you say, and its monotone, calm, but inside you’re a fucking kid in a candy store because she even has a bad bleach job and a perm and you live for moments like these.  
  
You love Texas.  
  
You love this woman.  
  
“You boys are drippin’ on my floor.” she says with a thick accent, thicker than is usual for Houston and Dirk just kind of looks back at the door, but you actually have to try to keep a straight face.  
  
“The storm caught us off guard. Can we get a booth?”  
  
“By that window” Dirk interjects, and points to a row of windows that face the bikes and the waitress just shrugs.   
  
She looks between the two of you, eyeing the rain speckled shades and the water dripping from your leather jackets and jeans and clicks her tongue.  
  
“Seat yourself, ain‘t my problem hun. Just holler when you‘re ready t‘ order.”  
  
Your brother wastes no time in heading for the perfect booth in front of a window that frames your bikes and the green tinted sky.   
  
He slides into one side, you slide into the other.  
  
“So you gonna tell me why we pulled over for lunch just short of half past 10?” he asks, and you have to admit, the scratch on his cheek is a bit distracting now that you’re in fluorescent lighting.  
  
But you focus on the task at hand and look at him through fogged shades.  
  
 “Road was slick as satan’s tongue, don’t think I missed your surfing stunt back on the bridge.”  
  
He frowns. “I had control.”  
  
“And I’m auditioning for Toddlers in Tiaras next month” you say flatly.  
  
“Glad to see you’ve found your calling in life”  
  
Then two of you share a smirk for a moment before you let yours fall.   
  
“Kind of being serious here though.”  
  
Its quiet, and then he just shrugs. “ I forgot, you don’t like riding in storms.”  
  
“Sane people generally avoid it, yes.”   
  
You know he didn’t forget. Dirk seldom forgets things, and if he does, its only because you told them to him when he was distracted.   
  
“Well then stop stalling and order those waffles. If we’re gonna wait out this storm we’re doing it armed to the elbows in maple syrup.”  
  
“Hell yeah”   
  
  
The waitress clearly doesn’t approve of your language, but you have no doubt she’s heard ten times worse if she’s ever worked a midnight shift because all the crazy fucks go to Waffle House at 2 am, you know this from experience. At one point in time you and Bro were regular 2 am Waffle House crazies.  
  
When you call her over, Carol writes down your order of six waffles, apple juice, orange soda, bacon and no, you don’t want eggs because they’re disgusting but you’ll take some crayons if they have any.  
  
She doesn’t even look phased at this point and just shakes her head in acceptance as she walks to the counter, grabs a handful of crayons and a coloring mat and puts them on your table.   
  
Her cooperation is much appreciated and you think you’ll honor Carol by making her a feature in a new comic.  
  
Dirk lets you scribble away with the blue and red crayons on the back of the children’s placemat, and from the corner of your eye you see him pull out his phone and start texting.  
  
It isn’t to you, and you hadn’t heard his phone buzz or anything, so you’ve got to wonder who the fuck he’s talking to.  
  
Its probably Roxy, and you settle on that, before realizing the responses are coming way too quickly for it to be her.  
  
You haven’t spoken to the girl on more than a few occasions, but when you did she was typoing so much that even with the corrections there was a bit of a drunken pause between answers.   
  
Whoever it is, they have Dirk’s undivided attention.  
  
You’re a bit jealous.  
  
Jesus fuck when did you become such a pre-teen girl.  
  
Your dear sweet waffle love Carol interrupts you with a large glass of AJ and for a moment, all is forgotten.  
  
Until she puts a glass of orange Crush in front of Dirk and he doesn’t fucking look up.  
  
He keeps texting.  
  
You sip your sweet apple nectar and watch him over the edge of the glass and he still doesn’t look up.  
  
Then he fucking smirks, and before you know it your glass is missing the table in a fit of un-coordination and noodle fingers and you manage to spill your precious juice in a horrendous flood across the speckled linoleum table and straight onto Dirk’s shirt.  
  
Also his phone.  
  
“Shit!” he shouts and stands up so fast the table tips, and his untouched glass of Crush flies towards you like perfectly planned orange scented heavenly revenge.  
  
Your red shirt is sticking to your chest worse than before and you smell like soda and Dirk is just glaring at you from behind his shades and shaking his phone to the side.  
  
You wince, seeing the AJ roll off it’s case and onto the window.  
  
Wow you’re game is so off today its amazing.  
  
You blame the rain.  
  
Dirk doesn’t even say anything to you. He just moves out of the booth with a squeak of wet clothes against plastic and heads for the bathroom.  
  
For a moment, you stare at the mess of liquid on the table and watch it consume the poor unsuspecting Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff and Carol comic further. Then you realize, you should probably go to bathroom too, and so with a second squeak, you follow in Dirk’s footsteps.  
  
The bathroom is small, just a single yellow stall and a urinal and when you open the door you see Dirk’s leather jacket slung over stall door and his arms in the air behind it.  
  
“No.” he says, and you kind of have to pause because, what?  
  
“You are not changing until you bring me a clean shirt.”   
  
“…But that’s outside.”  
  
“And you just ruined my phone.”  
  
“In the rain.”  
  
“Dave.”  
  
“Dirk.”  
  
“You’ll need a clean shirt too”  
  
You look down at the mess, and, okay, he’s got a point.  
  
“Fine. Wait here.”  
  
“Wouldn’t  _dream_ of leaving, Princess” he says, and it’s a joke, but you can tell he’s still pretty pissed.  
  
As you leave the bathroom, you glance over to Carol and see her bringing a mop and bucket over to the table.   
  
Holy cow you are a piece of shit.   
  
Like, that ain’t cool.  
  
You’re left standing between the door and the waitress and you are literally a deer in headlights. A soda soaked, eighteen year old deer in headlights with the fury of a waffle house waitress ready to plow you down.  
  
An embarrassing squeak of a sorry escapes your lips and you run out the door and towards your bikes. Maybe it wasn’t the best of responses, and Carol probably thinks you’re trying to run now and skimp out on the bill but you figure Dirks locked in the bathroom as ransom if need be.  
  
You fumble for your keys and unlock your bike just barely in time to avoid setting off the alarm. Its not Dirk’s bag, but the two of you are about the same size, so you just grab the first two shirts you come across and re-zip the duffel.  
  
Its still raining cats, dogs and every other fucking household mammal, but you hide the shirts under your jacket, lock your bike, and flash step back to the safety of the Waffle House lobby. You can’t even bring yourself to look at the table, and instead just run toward the bathroom and shut the door.  
  
When you get there, its not exactly what you were expecting.  
  
Dirk’s just standing there, shirtless, ass pressed to the sink and laughing as he types on his apparently absolutely fine and completely unharmed phone.  
  
He’s fucking laughing.  
  
You’d be flattered if he was just standing there shirtless and waiting for you because that’s kind of sexy and you’ve always wondered what it’d be like to make out in a Waffle House, but apparently Dirk does not have the same kink because he’s too preoccupied with whoever the fuck is on the other end of that conversation.  
  
Honestly, last night he was begging to suck you off and now you’re running around like his own drowned rat of an errand boy.  
  
Well, that just ain’t right.  
  
He looks up from his phone and leans away from the sink, and you know he’s about to say something but you cut him off.  
  
“Who’re you texting?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just sayin‘, careful there Smeagol. S‘good to take a break now and then.”  
  
He doesn’t answer you for a moment, and you can feel the tension. You shouldn’t have said anything, but its too late to do damage control.  
  
“You’re right, you’ve caught me, I have a texting addiction. Send me to texting rehab so I can correct my awful thumb twitching ways. Save my pour tech addict soul Dave, before its too late. But oh, first, give me my fucking shirt.”  
  
He’s doing that thing with his mouth again, where it pulls to the side instead of a normal frown and while you know you could retort, you don’t.  
  
You just throw the black tank at his face.   
  
Dirk catches it, because his reflexes are faster than a cat on speed, but you hear a small sound as he puts his phone down and its quiet for all of five seconds.  
  
“You’re jealous.” he says as the gears stop turning and if you didn’t know better you’d think he almost sounded pleased at the idea.  
  
“Bullshit” you say, but he inches closer.  
  
“No. I’m right.”   
  
You don’t like this. He was not supposed to pick up on that. If that’s even what this is. Which it cant be because this is not what you’re supposed to do. Striders aren’t jealous, jealous isn’t cool. Its possessive, and attention seeking, and needy and fuck Dirk just keeps getting closer and before you know it you’re backed into the wall.  
  
Dirk just looks at you, reading you, and you keep a straight face like your life depended on it, but then his phone pings with a new message and suddenly he‘s turning away to get it.  
  
Of course your hand picks this as the perfect time to reach forward and grab his wrist like a clingy four year old and it doesn’t matter that you let go almost instantly.  
  
The deed is done.  
  
You’re fate is fucking sealed, stamped and shipped off on overnight express.  
  
When Dirk turns back to you, you’re fully expecting to get a mouthful of a lecture on privacy or some other crap but instead, you get a mouthful of, well, mouth.  
  
Its not what you’re expecting.  
  
No complaints though.  
  
His phone pings again, but this time he doesn’t even flinch. Dirk’s lips press closer to yours and you’d be lying if that wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You’re still clinging onto the clean shirt in your hands, but you realize Dirk had apparently dropped his, given that his fingers were now snaking under the hem of the soda soaked fabric on your skin.  
  
When he pulls away a few seconds later, you’re just short of dumbfounded.  
  
“….Alright, I know I’m slick as shit with all kinds of rad allure of a Wayne but I’m not quite Batman so I need to you explain this to me.”  
  
He doesn’t explain.   
  
His lips just move to your neck in time for a shiver to go down your spine and straight to your dick.  
  
You need less of an explanation two seconds later when the edge of his teeth graze the skin under your jaw. His shades press annoyingly into your cheek but it wouldn’t be the first time, and frankly, Strider, you don’t give a damn because that initial hope for Waffle House sex session seems to be back on track and while you’re not sure how, or why, you’re not going to question this one further.  
  
Though you might have an inkling of an idea.  
  
Just a hunch really, and its reinforced by the way Dirk bites down and sucks the living soul out of you like a mosquito whose been fasting for a month and fuck does it make you moan.  
  
He pulls away again to shh you, and this time your hand flies up and forces his mouth back down while your leg hooks around his in a way far to similar to a scene from some chick flick. Your shirt is sticky, and wet, and cold, and pressing against Dirk’s bare chest and before you know it, its off and hitting the ground with an unattractive slap.  
  
You are definitely about to do this in a god damn Waffle House.  
  
Or you would, if there wasn’t a knock on the door just as Dirk’s tongue lapped up some of the remnant soda on your chest.  
  
“Food’s ready huns if ya’ll are done changin’ ” a familiar accented voice beckons from the other side.  
  
Oh Carol…  
  
Dear, sweet, underpaid Carol.  
  
Kindly please fuck off.  
  
You can feel Dirk grin against your skin. His body shakes with a small chuckle and yeah, okay, so the irony with this one is pretty damn fantastic but you’d gladly sacrifice irony for a blowjob right now.  
  
“Thanks for the heads up” he calls back, and you know its over.   
  
The groan escaping your throat is pathetic but poignant and when Dirk pulls away he just shrugs with that damn stupid smirk and bends over to pick up your shirts.  
  
“Your waffles are calling” he says.  
  
“Let them call. Let them scream bloody murder. Let them resort to fluffy buttery golden brown cannibalism as the cold slowly turns them to frozen waffle white walkers for all I care”  
  
He slips the clean tank over his shoulders in one easy motion. “Someone’s disappointed”  
  
“No, someone was expecting something and that someone didn’t  _get_  that something because another certain someone  _interrupted_  at a certain time and now that someone isn’t going to get that  _something_ because of a certain fucking plate of  _food_ ”  
  
“Tell me more about your diner kink Dave, its oh so interesting” he teases and you’re still cold and sticky and shirtless and horny and so  _not_  in the mood for this bullshit.  
  
But you can play this game.  
  
You can get your revenge.  
  
You begin planning it the instant Dirk grabs his phone from the sink, opens the bathroom door and heads for the table with his fingers already clacking away, leaving you alone to stare at the sopping wet mess your life has become.  
  
Thinking back to last night, you realize, yes, TLC would definitely pay you for this shit.  
  
Your life is that much of a joke.   
  
Congratulations Dave Strider, your life is that much of a comedic fucking freakshow.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel sorry for you if you've never experienced the magnificence of a Waffle House.
> 
> Truly, my soul weeps for you.


	3. You're the (Second) Good Thing About this Waffle House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dirk Strider, and you've never been to a Waffle House. But, you like it so far. You hadn’t quite anticipated Dave flinging his apple juice across the table at you, but if you’re honest, there’s a lot about Dave you never quite anticipate. Which is nice for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this is Chapter 2.5. A detour of sorts.
> 
> A guide to understanding Dirk, if you will.
> 
> And AR I guess.

The morning started out normal. A scramble out of bed after a front desk wake up call, which you didn‘t remember setting up, but it didn’t matter. One look outside and there wasn’t an once of light regardless of the fact it was past 9 am. It was pouring rain, and suddenly you were in a bit of a better mood.  
  
Dave didn’t wake up. He was still comatose in his own growing pile of drool, one leg wrapped in the sheets while the other hung sockless and dangerously close to the sword sticking out of the broken heater. He was hideous, but oddly endearing, so you let him sleep on as you hopped in the shower, got ready, and packed all of your things back up into the two black duffels. The room was a mess, after last night’s strife but, all things considered it only looked like large dog hyped on caffeine had been let loose, instead of say, a small dinosaur. So, marginally better than in Galveston.  
  
By the time everything was ready and the broken lamp had been stuffed into the small luggage closet, Dave still wasn’t awake.  
  
Normally its okay to be left to your own thoughts. You had spent practically your whole life alone, so its not like you weren’t used to it. Its just, well, after a while it became a problem. Which took a year of talking to Roxy to realize, but that’s a road you weren’t about to go down again. Not this early.   
  
So instead you grabbed your shades, and headed over the bathroom after glancing at the snoring, slobbering douche of a partner one last time. Honestly you were getting far too affectionate for your own liking. But, you couldn’t help it.  
  
You were barely three days into this mess of a roadtrip and regardless of your mood the night before, things were going well.  
  
Like, really well.  
  
As in, you had manage to score in two of the two motel beds you’ve slept in so far and that’s pretty damn good.  
  
The only problem was, it always seemed to be on your suggestion. Or, rather, post-strife positioning, which may as well have been the same thing. Dave didn’t have a problem with it morally speaking. Which had been surprising, but not unwelcome. Its not even like the situation was new. The two of you had been a thing for anywhere between six to two months depending on how you looked at things. It was just the surrealism of it all you couldn’t help but feel got to him in some way. After all, you were like two strangers who knew it each other very well, and had the same cheekbones.  
  
Dave was distant; almost as much as you. He could shoot his mouth off about anything, but he wasn’t outwardly affectionate. Which was mutual. The only problem with that was sometimes you had to wonder if this was all in your head. Like he only did the things he did because you prompted him too, and none of it was just /him/. Like with Jake.  
  
Maybe you were pushing him too hard.  
  
On the other hand, none of this would be happening if you hadn’t pushed it a bit.  
  
….and that gave you an idea.  
  
After shutting the door to the small motel bathroom for privacy’s sake you turned on your shades and messaged the one and only person who could help you.  
  
You.  
  
Kind of.  
  
Okay, frankly not at all, you liked to think you weren’t as much of an asshole.  
  


  
  
Thankfully the Auto-Responder didn’t even question it. He was probably just happy to finally get access to your phone again after losing it six months before. When the familiar red text flashed back an OK, you pulled out the smart phone in your pocket and went to work on un-blocking Hal’s access code and IP and then added his account to a list of contacts.   
  
It barely took five minutes and by the time Dave was wrestling himself awake in the bed, Hal was pinging you with an SMS.  
  
Flash forward twenty minutes to the blustering winds bitch slapping your bike, and your day was considerably less bright.   
  
Not just because it was practically a tropical storm out on the highway, but because you had been trying to call Dave for the last half mile and he wasn’t fucking answering his Bluetooth.  
  
You know, the thing you installed in his helmet so you could discuss fucking important matters like, Oh, hey I need to refuel, we should stop soon. Or, should we take this giant bridge coming up in front of us or not?   
  
The kind of things he can’t hear, because Dave has apparently turned off his helmet. Or never turned it on.  
  
What kind of idiot doesn’t turn on their helmet?  
  
You keep calling, for some reason, hoping he’ll suddenly obtain a set of miraculous telepathic powers and become aware of the fact he’s being an asshole and remember to tune in just in time for you to scream in his ear.  
  
But he doesn’t.  
  
“Fuck” you curse, forgetting that there was definitely voice recognition program in your helmet.  
  


 

  
Ignoring the constant red blinking, you finally signal to Dave to pull over onto the shoulder so you can figure out if you’re taking this damn bridge or not.  
  
Apparently you are, and the short conversation you had with him didn’t help your mood at all.   
  
“Whats up?” he asks  
“I’ve been calling for the last two miles dude”  
“Must’ve turned it off” he says, and that’s it.   
  
Must’ve turned it off.  
  
You get the apathy. You get the whole, don’t talk about feelings shit. You did it too. Hell, you were fucking pro at it.   
  
But the fact he could just so easily ignore you just…wouldn’t get out of your head.  
  
So you pull back onto the road and head toward the large yellow bridge a half mile ahead.  
  
“Hey Hal”  
  


  
  
You’re so caught up in making sure you read the messages right that you miss the fact you are descending down a bridge and definitely hydroplaning on the water slicked road. Your bike jerks to the right and the murky water of the gulf below you looks a bit like too much of a possibility in your near future.  
  
You jerk to the left and kick off the side of the metal railing just in time to right yourself.  
  
Crisis adverted, what the actual fuck is going on with your Auto-Responder?  
  
He can be a douche sometimes, and sure, he hates when you invalidate his existence which you guess you can understand since it would royally piss you off too, but..  
  
Seriously what the fuck  _was_  that.  
  
Unfortunately, you don’t really get the chance to dwell on it due to the fact Dave is suddenly passing you on the left and heading for the nearest exit. He knows you have no choice but the follow, so you do. You’re just a bit confused by frankly, everything going on right now. Which is agitating on an entirely different level.  
  
Dave pulls over at the fluorescent yellow sign displaying the letters ‘Waffle House‘, and the thunder booms, causing you to jump a bit and nearly skid into him. Its not your day and you’re starting to think your bike has developed homicidal tendencies.  
  
He laughs, and you’re mortified but you don’t show it. After questioning him and getting your hair fucking soaked in rain colder than a bitter Disney villain‘s heart, the two of you head inside and he seems a bit happier. You make sure to sit by a window where you can keep an eye on the bikes and bags, while Dave does his best to charm the waitress.  
  
You try to hold a conversation with him, because he genuinely seems concerned after your hydro-show of a fuckup, which gives you a nice feeling in your stomach but at the same time you’re still a bit concerned about Hal. So while he’s ordering the waffles you had absently suggested, you’re messaging the responder on your shades while pretending to read the menu.  
  
  


  
  
The waitress takes the menus away and Dave gets a coloring sheet and starts drawing, and you barely even notice.   
  
You can multi-task. You send an email from your shades to your phone so it pings with an alert, but apparently the sound is on vibrate, so you just pull out your phone anyways and then while Dave glances up, you text Hal.  
  
Score 1 on starting the game, score 2 on doing some needed damage control.  
  


  
There. You said it. That should fix things.  
  
Then again, you know it probably won’t.  
  
 For some reason when you had programmed Hal at the tender age of 11 as a summer project, you had never anticipated he would be capable of convincingly synthetic emotional fits.  
  
Of course when you were 11 the base programming for Hal was barely even Hal. You kind of just wanted a friend aside from a puppet, and Computer Camp was boring so you messed around with an auto-responder program that was already on the computer. It was embarrassingly simple. All it could say was Hmm, Interesting, and a few other things that faked interest in what you were saying.   
  
Two years later, you had already met Roxy online and she had a science fair coming up and needed project ideas. You had just run away from your foster parents, and kind of still really fucking needed someone to keep you company so you suggested her messing with the AR program.   
  
 She ended up rewriting the entire basic code, and you worked with her on the personality aspect and modeled it after yourself since you kind of hated everyone else at the time and it seemed better than talking to yourself out loud.  
  
You also got the impression Roxy was more eager than she should be to help program an AI after yourself. Which was flattering but also deeply unsettling.  
  
Regardless, she won her science fair, and you got a friend.  
  
…Who you obsessively poked and prodded and altered the coding or for the next four years until it was an AI worthy of the NASA bastards who sponsored that camp you got kicked out of.  
  
Hell, Hal could talk circles around those idiots.  
  
But, while you had initially modeled him after yourself, angry and lonely and equal parts sarcastic and blunt, he quickly became something more. You liked talking to him over the years and watching him change. Maybe you changed, but either way, you became different people. People who just, understood each other really well.  
  
Fuck no wonder the dude was pissed.  
  
When he responds, you’re all too quick to text back.  
  
Something Dave picks up on.  
  


  
  
You notice the small smile creeping its way onto your face and quickly stop it. Vaguely you hear the waitress bring the drinks, but you’re too busy explaining things.  
  
You tell him how the game is already in motion, and it doesn’t take anything more for Hal to realize the plan because he  _knows_  you. He could have come up with this game himself.  
  
While Dave takes his apple juice, you and Hal chat eagerly about absolutely nothing. Just a constant stream of texts to keep you busy, and distracted, and not paying attention to Dave.  
  
Something you think is helping make everything up to Hal. He starts sending you jpegs of vaguely sexual hardware like an extension cord plugged into itself or a phallic shaped wrench, and you score them 1 out of 10 and challenge him further.  
  
Just as a penis shaped thumb drive makes its way onto your screen, there is a flood of apple juice spilling into your lap.  
  
“Shit!!” You shout, standing up quickly because fuck, it got on your phone, and second, there is ice cold apple juice all over you and Dave is just sitting there staring as your orange soda takes its turn and does a fantastic imitation of a swan dive across the table and into his chest and lap.  
  
Why the  _fuck_  did your teenage brother just spill his juice like a damn toddler throwing a temper tantrum?  
  
..wait.  
  
Oh.   
  
  
You half-fake irritation and head into the bathroom leaving Dave alone in the booth and practically count down waiting for him to follow. As the bathroom door is shutting, you hear the squeak of his skinny jeans against the plastic seats and feel a swell of pride as you head for the stall and start stripping your shirt.  
  
When the door opens you don’t even have to look at him. From behind the stall you give him a straight “No.” and convince him to go outside and grab clean clothes from your duffels.   
  
So while he does, you head to sink and clean yourself, and your phone off.  
  
Hal apparently took your pause in responses as a sign to assault you with photos of preteen boys in aviators.  
  
You know you should be mad because you know exactly who he’s making fun of but at the same time, you can’t help but smile because Hal is just as obsessed with Dave as you are, just in a different way, and he doesn’t see it.  
  


  
The bathroom is empty, so you give yourself the freedom to grin a bit. The fact you get to mess with Dave when he gets back has you in a good mood, if a bit impatient, but Hal is definitely helping.  
  
He continues to fake flirt, and strokes your ego while simultaneously mocking you, and you mock him by reminding him of the fact apple juice could have killed him while instead it just made you wet and a bit fruity smelling.  
  
Which was horrible wording because naturally the next text was…  
  
[Lets me honest sweetie you’re always kind of a wet fruit]  
  
The yellow bathroom door opens just as you crack up and text Hal back, leaving Dave standing like a wet cat in the doorway.  
  
He’s really fucking attractive, soaked to the bone in rain and orange soda, and definitely focused on you even through his shades, but you have to keep it cool.  
  
Because the game isn’t over just yet.  
  
You calm your face and lean your ass away from the sink to talk to him, but the moment your mouth opens he’s cutting you off.  
  
“Who are you texting?” he asks, and the angry edge to his voice is like music to your ears.   
  
“What?”   
  
Please say more. Please ask more. Don’t just drop this.  
  
“Just sayin‘, careful there Smeagol. S‘good to take a break now and then.”  
  
Oh  _fuck_  yes.  
  
It takes a lot to keep your face collected and annoyed, but you do a decent job because you can see him shrink in front of you. You can see it in his face how he regrets those words. How he wants to take them back. But he doesn’t, so you push him further.  
  
“You’re right, you’ve caught me, I have a texting addiction. Send me to texting rehab so I can correct my awful thumb twitching ways. Save my poor tech addict soul Dave. But oh,  first, give me my fucking shirt.”  
  
You bite your cheek, trying to keep focused, but there’s water dripping from his hair, and Dave’s shirt is clinging to his chest and suddenly a black tank top is flying towards you because /the plan actually worked/ and without thinking you catch the tank and leave your phone on the porcelain sink.  
  
He stares at you, and you’ve got him. Predator meet prey.  
  
“You’re jealous.” There’s too much pleasure in your voice but you don’t care.   
  
“Bullshit” he spits on instant and you take a step closer to him.  
  
“No, I’m right.”  
  
It’s a dance between you. He moves back as you move closer and his mouth falls open as he realizes he’s hit the wall.  
  
The smell of the orange soda fills the air, and he’s a mess, and he’s angry, and he is less than five inches from your face. And right on cue, your phone buzzes.   
  
Your body barely has to turn away before Dave is reaching out, wrapping his cold fingers around your wrist and pulling you back.  
  
You could easily keep this going, and you revel in having complete control of the situation because this was exactly what you wanted. This was what you needed.   
  
Somehow Dave had a way of surprising you and meeting all of your expectations in an addictingly predictable way.   
  
It was like… he knew you like Hal did which was comforting, but there was just enough of a chaotic element to his actions, and the way his analogies got away from him, and the way you could fight but also  _fight_  and, you wished so much that you had met him when you were 13 and alone.  
  
But you hadn’t, and it didn’t matter because you had him now, and he was holding you, needing you, and  _jealous_  and you couldn’t hold back anymore.  
  
Dave’s lips are just as cold as his fingers, but his mouth is warm, and you practically _taste_  the surprise and relief on his tongue. His shirt hem is wet, and heavy but you lift it up just enough to feel him. Just for a moment.  
  
When you pull away, there’s a small sound in his throat. Too low to be whine but too high to be anything other than dumbfounded confusion.  
  
“Alright, I know I’m slick as shit with all kinds of rad allure of a Wayne but I’m not quite Batman so you’re gonna need to explain this one to me.”  
  
He used a fucking Batman analogy and if that doesn’t make you want to kiss him into the wall you don’t know what will. So you don’t explain, you don’t even open your mouth again until its nestled into the crook of his neck and kissing slowly up to his jaw.   
  
He wants you, and he’s perfect, and squirming against you and he’s  _yours_.  
  
Teeth sink into his skin, and it heats up slowly under your tongue as you suck, and  _suck_ until there’s no way in hell he’ll be forgetting the feeling anytime soon.  
  
A moan vibrates in his throat, and you feel it against your lips, against your cheek, from your mouth and down your spine until it crashed into your toes. Because its amazing, and low, and loud.  
  
But, its too loud, and so you pull away just enough to shh him with a smirk stretching at the corner of your mouth, and Dave’s hand is on you, pulling you back down in a second flat, and the way his leg wraps around you, pulling you closer, is enough to drive you mad.  
  
You’re hands tug at the wet fabric of his shirt until your mouths break apart just long enough to pull it off and onto the floor.  
  
You’re bodies are cold, and his is kind of sticky but fuck if you can resist pressing as close to him as possible. The smell of orange is overwhelming your senses and as your tongue drags across his chest you can taste it and you’ve never been more thankful about spilling a soda on someone.  
  
But there’s a knock at the door just as you move to lick lower, and it’s the waitress from earlier.  
  
“Foods ready huns if ya’ll are done changin’!”  
  
Dave is quiet, but you chuckle against him because of course this would happen. Of _course_. Its like something out a bad movie or even worse, a cable network sitcom. But there’s a beauty in it.  
  
“Thanks for the heads up!” you shout back with your forehead pressed into the other boy’s sternum.  
  
Dave groans, and its loud, but you don’t care. You got what you wanted. You can screw after waffles, you can strife after waffles, you don’t really care. Dave might, and sure, your dick cares, but when you pull away you’re smirking and shrugging and all you can say is   
  
“Waffles are calling”  
  
It gets him riled just enough to start ranting, and you couldn’t think of a better soundtrack as you change shirts and grab your phone again. A quick tease about his diner kink and you know for a fact this Waffle House bathroom has not seen the last of the Striders. So you’re okay leaving the small room to refuel on some waffles and maybe get a refill on that soda.  
  
  



	4. You're the Last Good Thing about this Parking Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things you just don’t want to know. Things that, you probably should know but for reasons like, a wish to maintain your own sanity, you keep yourself in the dark about. The reason for this whole road trip? Yeah, that’s one of those things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start going downhill from here. Sorry folks. 
> 
> If you were under the impression this would be a happy go-lucky kind of road trip fic, you are sadly mistaken my friend.

By the time you and Dirk finally sit down for your food, there are a few other patrons who have come in seeking shelter from the torrential rain that’s definitely still pounding your bikes outside.  
  
There’s even still food on the table.  
  
Its a glorious spread, complete with fresh glasses of AJ and Orange soda, and Dirk wastes no time in digging in. You’re still a bit sticky, and in a bit of a daze after the events in the bathroom but its nothing a fresh waffle couldn’t fix and thankfully, there’s a stack just waiting for you to devour..  
  
“So…I was thinking…” you finally say between bites and half hearted attempts at chewing.   
  
“Wow, that’s rare” Dirk teases, and you let it slide.  
  
“If we keep heading north, we’re gonna have to leave state lines soon enough. Maybe even tomorrow if we drive late tonight.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow. “You want to leave that fast?”  
  
“You don’t?”  
  
The two of you have been wasting a considerable amount of time the last few days. Technically, you’re just an hour away from Houston and you’d like to be a lot farther. At least, that was kind of the point.  
  
Dirk shrugs. “ We can make it to Louisiana by nightfall easy, even if the storm keeps up. Just a matter of wanting to”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
He nods and takes another bite of food. “S’just a few hours drive”  
  
A few hours he says. On all technicalities, he’s right. Three or four hours, and your bikes could be crossing state lines in Louisiana and on their way to all kinds of cities of sin and bourbon and motels sketchier than your wildest dreams. Of course, there was also the possibility of Dirk pulling up to some fancy ass 5-star, just for the sake of rattling your nerves and those of the poor soul to check you in.  
  
Yeah, that sounds like something he’d do.  
  
Still, just a few hours and you’d be out of state, and all that much further from everything Dirk was running from. Everything you had tagged along for, and everything he was helping you run from.   
  
After all, this was all your fault, wasn’t it?  
  
  
You’re halfway through a second waffle when the phone in your jeans vibrates, and the unfamiliar hum of it’s standard ringer starts. There’s very few people in the world who you haven’t assigned a custom ringtone to. Even the pizza guy has a ringtone. Of course, for a while you and Bro did order from him twice or more a week, so it made sense.   
  
But this was definitely not someone you knew, and even more unsettling was the fact no one should even be calling in the first place. You told your friends you’d be M.I.A for a bit, until things settled down and aside from Bro, and Dirk, that left no one else to call you. Not even sales calls.  
  
Dirk puts his fork down, and just looks at you from across the table, because he’s thinking exactly what you are.   
  
Of course he is.  
  
There’s not a doubt in your mind.  
  
Quickly, to get the ringer to stop you hit the silencing button as you fish it out of your pocket and swallow the lump in your throat.  
  
Its not anyone in your contacts list.  
  
Just a number with a Houston area code.  
  
“Hang up.” Dirk says, and you don’t want to. But, you don’t want to answer either.  
  
“I think its the police” you say, and thankfully your voice is just short of numb. Your heart is beating, but that’s all. On the outside, you’re cool as a cryogenically frozen cucumber.  
  
“All the more reason.” He says. “Hang up.”  
  
“But what if its Bro?”  
  
“And what if its not?” he counters. Its a good counter. For a moment, you’re back to believing him. “I thought you wanted to get away from this Dave” he continues, and the phone is still ringing quietly in your hand.   
  
You hope it hangs up and doesn’t reach voicemail.  
  
“I do”   
  
“Then who the fuck cares if its Bro and the police. Either way, you answer that phone and our problems take one helluva step closer to us.“  
  
You want to swallow but your mouth is dry.   
  
“They’re going to keep calling.”   
  
He’s quiet, and you think, maybe you managed a good enough counter, but he shakes his head and reaches forward just as the screen switches over and voicemail picks up.  
  
“Gimme the phone”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you damn well know why, just give me the phone.”  
  
Its true. You know why. Which is why you have no fucking clue as to the reason you actually extend your arm and hand the phone over to him. Because it comes as no surprise when he   
shuts it off and grabs the fork to his left to give its bottom charger a treatment that’d make Vlad the Impaler shed fucking proud papa tears in his grave.  
  
That is to say, your iPhone is now out of commission.  
  
“You didn’t have to murder it..” You grumble, because crying over a lost phone is not only pointless but kind of not your style. Internal screaming, yes. Outward sobbing and offering to give it a funeral service, no.   
  
Dirk pries the carcass open and continues to mess with its innards in a way you can’t help but think is highly indecent considering your public location. But, he doesn’t care. He removes something that you’re not really sure off, and then grabs the container of syrup and drizzles it onto the metal.  
  
If there was any question whether or not your phone was repairable, this reassured you it was certainly not.  
  
“Are you done?”   
  
“You gave it me.”  
  
“The syrup seems excessive.”  
  
“You do know people can track you with this stuff, right?”  
  
“You’ve still got yours…” You’re not pouting.  
  
Dirk just frowns. “I’ve got Hal. If anyone tries to track me, he scrambles the signal.”  
  
“Yeah well, good thing no one is fucking looking for you.”  
  
You look at the half eaten waffle before you and suddenly, you’re not very hungry. You kind of just want to find a wifi hotspot to send a message to John or Rose because its been a few days, and being denied SMS has you craving communication. Its like ordering fries, and the dude at the window tells you don’t eat them, they’re hot, and so the first thing you do is eat them and scald your mouth so bad its raw for a week. You weren’t <i>planning </i> on eating the fries first thing, but he mentioned them, so of course you did.   
  
You kind of want to talk to Bro.  
  
It’s slowly dawning on you that, even if that wasn’t him, Dirk just blew your one chance of ever talking to Bro again.   
  
Not that you want to.  
  
You don’t know.  
  
Fuck, you need a fight.  
  
Dirk is still messing with your old shell of a phone when you stand up and head for the counter and ask for the check. You need to get outside. Now. Carol is nice enough as she rings you up, and you thank her for cleaning up the mess, but your hearts not in it. Not that she could tell. She gives you your change and its settling at the bottom of your pocket as you head out the door and into the rain. Everything is kind of a blur.  
  
By this point in time the pavement outside is well slicked with water and its pooling at the base of the curb where you parked your bikes earlier.   
  
There’s more cars now, but you couldn’t give a shit because the more you think about it, the angrier you get. Its not just the phone, you really couldn’t care less about it. Its just the fact that you haven’t talked to Bro in almost ten days now and you really want to. You’re mad, but you don’t know why. One day he was there, and the next your apartment is being swarmed by the fuzz and half your shit is being seized and Dirk’s outside with his bike and a way to escape it all so… you go.  
  
You just fucking left.  
  
You took that hand like it was your last saving grace and Dirk was your knight in pearly white armor. You jumped on him so fast it made a Rom Com look slow and logical, and you’d be damned if you stopped to even think.  
  
Bro was in handcuffs, and you just fucking hopped on a bike and left and maybe they finally let him call and you screwed up. You just handed your phone over to Dirk because you couldn’t think of a reason not to. Because he seemed to always know what to do, and he had all the answers.   
  
Kind of like Bro.  
  
But you can’t talk to Bro, and the weight in your stomach is telling you that you’ll never get another chance and you can only blame yourself.  
  
There are footsteps behind you. The heavy kind that warn you of leather boots and spiked blonde hair. You don’t even reach for your sword. You just pivot on your heel and crouch down as your leg swings and collides with Dirk’s shin with a sickeningly rain-soaked smack, knocking him off balance.  
  
There’s no words. This is isn’t going to be one of those fights where you talk, and both of you know it. Dirk’s probably been waiting for this moment since the day he picked you up. He probably knew you’d crack at some point. Because thats what he fucking does. He knows everything. How to fix everything. How to fuck up everything. How to win everything.   
  
Your fist collides with his all knowing skull and its a cheap shot but that doesn’t matter.  
  
You hit him, and he falls, black jacket meeting black pavement.  
  
In two seconds you’re on him, fighting to keep him down with a hand at his collar. He hooks a leg around your back and the two of you roll to the side and into the tires of the car parked next to you.   
  
Its wet. Everything is wet and getting wetter because while the rain has slowed, it hasn’t stopped by any means. Your clothes are so soaked you don’t even notice it at this point. You can’t be bothered to.  
  
The two of you are a mess of mud as you scramble up and reach for your sword.  
  
Momentum is a funny thing, and if your brain stopped to think about it, you’d realize that was all this was. Just a lot of fucking momentum that’s been building, and building since day one. Since you first heard the clink of those police keys rushing up the stairs, and Bro’s languid voice trying to understand why on God’s green and fucked up earth there were handcuffs being slammed around his wrists.   
  
You would realize, if you stopped to think, that Dirk’s arrival was a bit too convenient, and his spare helmet a bit too perfect. But you never stopped to think. Not that night, and honestly,not any night since then.  
  
In truth, you had been skating along on this convenience reliant momentum for longer than seemed possible.  
  
But, you never stopped to think. You never stopped to realize any of this, and the only momentum that crossed your mind at all, was the weight of the sword in your hand as it collided against the sheath clutched tightly between Dirk’s fingers.  
  
He’s standing up again, and when you finally bother to look at his face theres nothing but a familiar stretch of lips.  
  
He’s smirking.  
  
“So…” he starts, and its the first thing either of you have said. One fucking word, and you already want to shut him up.   
  
You swallow, and he continues. “You wanna tell me what this is about, bro are we just going to make a mockery of ourselves in front of these fine patrons?” he nods his head to the side, and sure enough, you can make out Carol’s shape through the window. A parking lot, isn’t exactly a well secluded place. But had known that when you walked out here.  
  
Didn’t you?  
  
You’re sword droops, just slightly, and thats it. You’re momentum is lost and Dirk takes a swing.  
  
Metal bounces back and into your bike, and every nerve in your body cringes at the sound.  
  
Dirk straightens his shoulders, and have to bite your tongue from spitting out every thought thats racing through your mind.   
  
“You hit. My bike.”   
  
“You loosened. Your grip.” he mocks, and your fingers clench into fists. He’s not giving you a second to calm down. Not even one.  
  
“Why the fuck did you destroy my phone you over paranoid  _bastard_?”  
  
“If I’m a bastard, so are you” he retorts, and he tries to joke, but it falls.  
  
“At least someone fucking raised me!”   
  
Dirk’s sword flies past you, and it clashes to the ground much like your own. If you stopped to think, you’d realize you went too far.   
  
Too bad you don’t stop to think.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“You didn’t even  _fight_  until we met, Dirk! You didn’t fucking strife so don’t even play this off as some kind of habit because you and I both know thats a thing between me and Bro!” You’re not quite sure where any of this is coming from, it just is. Your sword is on the ground, and there’s still adrenaline in your veins and if you can’t fight, then you can yell.   
  
“Any dumbass can pick up a sword you sniveling prick.”   
  
“I’m never going to get to strife with him again, and, and when I get one god damned _chance_ you shove a fork up my phone’s ass and shatter it! Who the fuck  _does_  that, Dirk?!“  
  
  
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe a guy who is looking out for you, and doesn’t want to see you roped into some investigation by the feds.”   
  
His voice is calm. Its always logical, and its exactly not what you want right now.  
  
There’s a pause. Where the two of you just breathe. “Why were you there that night?”   
  
“…I got a heads up from Hal.” he says, but you don’t buy it. Not immediately.   
  
“Your shitty auto responder was just, browsing the police channels?”    
  
“I was on a Batman kick when I programmed him. Police radios, Ham radios, Satellites, you name it. He’s wired into all of them…metaphorically speaking. Its technically all wireless.”  
  
It was too fucking convenient.   
  
“All that tells me, is you’re a paranoid creep with a hero fetish.”  
  
He makes a motion that tells you he just gave the biggest eyeroll.   
  
“Oh no. You’ve discovered my secret.” he drawls out, but your shoulders relax just slightly against your will.  
  
“…If that _thing_  heard the initial alert, then it knows why they arrested him.”  
  
Dirk chews his lip for a moment and you realize the weight of what you just said.  
  
What you just asked him.  
  
“…Dave, is that even something you want to know?”  
  
The adrenaline is gone, but hate fills your stomach again because he’s figured you out.   
  
He understands you too well.   
  
You can’t even doubt yourself because Dirk’ll be there. Staring you down, rain soaked and putting up with your emotional bullshit not even an hour after you were grinding him in the bathroom.  
  
God, you’re fucked up.  
  
“…No.”   
  
Its all you can say, and Dirk has enough self awareness to control any obvious pride that might show itself. But you just feel a bit sick.  
  
“Lets just.. go. Okay. Lets go. You said we’d reach the border by nightfall.”  
  
“Dave.”  
  
“No. We’re going. We are going to reach Louisiana before happy hour so much as crosses any border bar’s  mind and we are going to find ourselves a motel and I am going to revel in the fact the only Texan license plates I see will be ours and then the two of us are going to grab a six pack or five, and I am going to get wasted.”  
  
“Dave, you’re not legal”   
  
“Like a give a flying fuck, we are running from the Police, Dirk.”  
  
Its an awkward shuffling onto your bike, with shaking hands trying to shove your blade back into its sheath but Dirk just walks up to you. His hand hits your thigh, and you start to tell him to fuck off but his lips hit yours and it doesn’t matter how much of a shaky, angry, jittery mess you are. You lean into it.  
  
He pulls away too soon, leaving you to follow like an idiot.  
  
“You are not getting drunk.” he tells you calmly, so you lean forward to bite his lower lip and tug.  
  
Kisses weren’t want you wanted, but you’re fidgety, and its cold, and he started it.  
  
He grins into you, but pulls away the moment you release. “I’m serious.”  
  
“I’m legal in Europe” you tell him.  
  
“You are not drowning your sorrows in cheap beer.” He leans down, brushing your noses before kissing you again, briefly. “ Not while I watch.”  
  
“Wow, you sir, are a fun leech. You just, suck every ounce of fun right out of me. Like a dementor but somehow more tragic.”  
  
“Oh please.”  
  
“No, no. Its true. I can feel my soul withering away. That kiss just now proved it.”  
  
“Well I wouldn’t want that. Guess this just means no more kissing.”  
  
Damn did that analogy backfire.  
  
He starts walking away, bending over to pick up his sword. The quiet is still aggravating, because, though the kiss was nice, and distracting, you’re still mad. More than that, you’re still confused.   
  
You’ve spent the last ten nights in a mixture of a honeymoon mindset and one of complete fear. It paralyzed you, if you stopped to consider what it was exactly you were doing. Or if you stopped to consider the details, like, running from the police, or the look on Bro’s face the night before it all happened. When nothing was wrong, and the two of you were just bickering like normal.   
  
You don’t like the details. Details blur the line between Dirk and Bro for you. Things like orange eyes, and blonde hair thats a shade darker than yours. Things like, vague sentences, and battle stances.   
  
Absently, you watch as Dirk puts his sword away and adjusts the duffels on your bikes before swinging his leg over the seat, readying himself.  
  
There’s a lot of questions you still need to ask. But, you’ve done a decent enough job of ignoring them for the last ten days and you think, another day wouldn’t hurt.   
  
As he revs his engine and your bike follows suit through the parking lot and back onto the highway, you convince yourself that you just need to get to the border, and then you can take a breath.  
  
Maybe then you’ll ask.   
  
Maybe, when the two of you finally get to New York.  
  
Or maybe… its just better if you stay confused.  
  



	5. You're the Last Good Thing I want to Think About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You decided to ask, and you really wish you hadn't.

A/N: What do you mean It’s been a year since this fic updated. It hasn’t been that long right? … right?… aw shit. 

 

You decided to ask.

It’s just past 10 pm in a seedy, Louisiana motel room. Somehow the storm had followed you for a hundred and fifty fucking miles and well past the border. Which was a shame not just for your bikes and mental well being, but because frankly the residual guilt of having brought another torrential storm to the poor state was heavy on the heart. Kind of. You’re aware you’re not some sort of weather magician but the drama that went down outside the waffle house has you genuinely considering if Zeus or Thor or someone is trying to tell you something. 

But its all probably a coincidence because its summer and its the South

Across from you, Dirk is sitting on the bed, grungy motel towel in his hand as he half-heartedly dries his hair after a warm shower.

It was forty long minutes, long, long, minutes where he left you alone to think about literally, everything. Sure you were alone for the ride but the noise of the bikes and the constant cars and caution about the rain helped distract you. 

But not now. Not while you had sat on the bed, still soaked, still cold, and still very confused while Dirk took his god damned time and probably all the hot water.

That wasn’t the point though.

. “I want to know.” You blurt out, and his hand stops.

Its one of the few times you’ve seen him without his shades. They fog up after showers, he says.

“..You need to be more specific. There’s a lot of things you don’t-”

“Why was Bro arrested?”

His face is flat. Not a sigh. Not a blink. Nothing.  
“Look dude, we just got out of Texas. Can’t this wait? “

“If you don’t tell me I’m driving back to Houston tonight.” You wouldn’t. You and him both know thats a cheap ass lie, but the thought was worth entertaining at least. 

“Bullshit.”

“I want to know. “

“Why?” Dirk asks, and for a second it almost sounds like a plea. Like he’s actually concerned. You’re almost scared to believe that though.

“…Because… he’s Bro.” 

Dirk looks at you, guarded. Unamused.

“Because I’ve known him my entire life and I barely know you. Because he might have finally called and you convinced me to hang up, and then trashed my phone. Because you’re being oddly controlling about all this and I can’t fucking tell if its because you’re some kind of psychopath or if you’re actually concerned and because frankly, the fact those two even seem remotely similar is frightening in itself!” It took a bit but you found the guts. Somewhere. Maybe too much, you feel kind of sick now.

“You meant sociopath.” he says. 

You punch him and then bounce off the bed and hit the cheap grease stained carpet. 

“You’re really worked up about this.” Dirk leans over the bed, moving his jaw side to side to unpop it. But while you’re fully aware how he’s looking down at you, it doesn’t matter. You lay there without the will to even get up. Because this is just another one of the things thats gone wrong on this trip. It was supposed to be fun. Maybe. You assumed but you could have been wrong.Considering how it started and all… yeah, maybe fun wasn’t ever the intention. Just another lie. Wow this list is getting long.

All the two of you have done is fight and fuck and progressively learned to distrust one another. It was like the past sixteen conscious years of your life summed up in a short few days.

“Aaggh!” You groan and the side of your fist collides with the wooden bed frame in a resounding thunk. Fuck emotion. Fuck everything. Fuck Dirk, and Bro, and the Police. Fuck laws, and computer systems and stupid as shit A.I.s that hate your guts.

Fuck the fact you’re in the most twisted relationship you’ve ever seen and somehow you’re still reluctant to acknowledge it, even as your face is on the floor and you still have bruises from the last two nights. 

“…Fine.” the voice above you says. “Fine.” it repeats.

You don’t need to confirm. You just need to pull yourself off the floor and back onto the bed like a man with dignity. 

Which you do, and you stare him straight in the eyes. 

“First, tell me your suspicions. I’ll confirm or deny. “

“You said you would tell me, Dirk.”

“If I confirm, thats the same thing. “

You should have known he wouldn’t just tell you.Still, admittedly its not like you haven’t thought about it before. Or a lot.

“…robbery?” It was plausible.

“No.”

Huh. 

“…um, assault on a civilian?” Also likely. More likely than robbery anyways.

“No.” Dirk shifts his leg ever so slightly, hooking his foot behind his other ankle. 

Those were the top two things you had considered. Though.. there were others but, certainly those wouldn’t be it. There was protocol for that kind of shit. They’d have contacted you, right? The police?

You don’t realize you’ve been chewing at your lower lip.

“Does it have something to do with me?”

He pauses. “Yes.”

“Shit. Ok. Uh..Child Protective Services?”

“ In a way.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means, in a way.” The tone of his voice changes a bit, and your stomach is sinking while your adrenaline rushes just a bit. 

“Look they only like, come in if its for certain things. Like, if the guardian is doin’ or dealin drugs, or like, hurting the kids but they need confessions from the kids and shit right? But I never said anything because it was just strifing, and its not like cops would have understood.”

Dirk doesn’t answer and you swallow.

“I didn’t come forward about our fights.”

“You didn’t. No.”

“Dirk… don’t tell me you fucking-”

“I didn’t.”

The muscles in your shoulders relax just a bit. Good. Okay then.  
But that doesn’t answer the question. If it wasn’t for strifing, and you nor Dirk told them about anything or.. 

Wait.

You replay the conversation in your head. 

You didn’t come forward about the strifes. 

…shit. Shit.

“Shit.” The word falls from you lips and Dirk shifts just slightly again. Your arms are shaking just a bit. 

“They take people away for another thing, don’t they?”

“C.P.S? Yeah.” he answers.

“..I didn’t tell them anything Dirk. I never told anyone anything. I didn’t even tell you.”

“Not in so many words. No.” 

“You didn’t” It’s all you can say.

“I didn’t. “ He confirms but it doesn’t feel like the truth.

“The only other person that knew and could have informed them is that fucking computer program of yours.”

Dirk didn’t say a word.

“That thing even informed you of when you pick me up. You told me that!”

Once again, silence. 

“Dirk I swear, if you’re telling me that thing is the reason I’m in this mess and Bro’s in jail, so help me-” You’re voice is on edge, reading and waiting to jump, and you’re body is shaking, fists clenched if it weren’t for your aviators still shielding your eyes you’d look like a god damned mess, but everything is crumbling and you’ve never been so mad a fucking pair of programmed sunglasses.

“Its not just about you, so shut the hell up ok?” Dirk says, and it’s the first real sentence he’s spoken this entire time. But it does shut you up. It doesn’t stop you from shaking, and it doesn’t stop the adrenaline pumping sickeningly through your veins.

There’s a suspicion, you’ve had for a long time. One thats been growing a lot, especially since the trip started. From the similarities you’ve noticed. From how Dirk never really wanted to meet Bro, or tried to dodge it every time.

You consider confirming it now, since everything seems to be falling apart anyways. What’s one more world shattering fact.

But you can’t. You just stay silent.

Dirk looks down at the carpet between you, and the bed creaks as he stands up and heads into the bathroom. The door doesn’t slam, it quietly shuts, but it a way that was worse.

There’s a squeak from the faucet and the familiar sound of the shower turning on again. Water hits the plastic curtain and then it doesn’t, so you know he stepped in. Normally you might take the opportunity to imagine him in there. But you’ve seen him wet enough lately, and you’d like to not think about those fights. Or the one just now. You don’t want to think about anything.

You look at the clock and see it says 10:32 pm.

Well, Dirk can’t be in there that much longer, right? He did just shower.

Glancing around you see the remote for the TV stuck to the dinosaur’s side with velcro. Nice. It was appreciatively awful and yet practical. Realizing this might still take a while you rip the remote from its home like a snail on the sidewalk and turn the TV on with a click.

At least it could give some background noise away from your thoughts.

 

It’s 11:17 and the shower is still going. It has to be cold by now, you imagine. Anger builds, but its probably just you being grumpy. Your bruises hurt, your ego is bruised, and every time you think about Bro there's an uncomfortable feeling in the corners of your eyes and a tightness in your throat.

You really want a fucking shower.

There isn’t even anything good on cable.

With a groan vibrating in your throat, shaded eyes look back to the bathroom door and decide, fuck it.

Fuck it all.

You want to talk to Rose.

She might pick your brain to pieces but she usually offers some relief regardless. Like beneficial torture.

The hotel had a lounge and you figure it probably has a business center. Either way, you can’t stand to be in the tiny 300 square foot space anymore, so you grab your bag, the only key, and leave.

 

The water shuts off, but you aren’t around to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for being patient ya’ll! I kept saying I hadn’t given up this fic but I know its been way too long so I won’t be surprised if some of ya’ll have given up. Anyways, This chapter is a bit shorter, because the next one is going to be really long and I thought I should probably stop here.
> 
> Hope to see you again soon. (I promise it wont take a year to update)


	6. You're the Last Good Thing I Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was like Sci-Fi level kind of shitty, and as you sit there listening to the silence of the dusty business lounge, you come to realize just how much of a trainwreck tonight had become. Rose's insightful comments weren't helping much either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm the worst author. My last update took a year and this one took a few months. But hey, theres no signs of stopping? So thats good?

The guy at the front desk gave you a look that, honestly, you weren’t sure if it was sympathetic to your lie, or if he saw right through it and was just too tired to care. Either way, when you asked for a computer to get online for homework he gave you a look and then followed that look by reaching over and handing you a key to the business lounge.

“Knock yourself out. No one uses that room anyways. Just give the key back when you're done and try not to make a mess or it’ll go on your room charge,” he says.

“ ‘Kay,” you answer, snatching the key and making a beeline down the hall and towards the flickering sign at the end. 

The room was slightly bigger than your actual hotel room, and had a small business table and two computers to the side. The stuffy smell, and the dust layered on the A.C. by the window was proof enough that the guy at the front desk hadn’t been joking.

“Shit,” is all you say before turning on the computer closest to you and collapsing into the creaky plastic desk chair with a thump.

The computer takes a while, definitely more than 20 seconds. You’re even tempted to say 45 but you’d hate to exaggerate.

Pft. Exaggerate. Yeah like you’re ever guilty of that.

...for some reason, its a topic you’re stuck on tonight. Like maybe this is all just your fault, and you’re being really shitty, and Dirk’s just along for the ride. In a way, you just want to go back to the room and say, 'Sorry dude, everything's chill'. Because you kind of prefer shit to be that way. Chill, non life-shattering. It wasn't much to ask, and you really fucking want it to be true. 

Not like you haven't done it before.

Last night, weren’t things okay? Wasn’t it just last night, when you were strifing with Dirk, /happy/, and things were pretty fucking great? Earlier weren’t you shoved against a Waffle House bathroom wall in rain soaked horny bliss? Yes. Yes to all of those. 

The phone call though... that was where things started to go wrong. Where waffles became a bitter taste in your mouth, and where your thought process in hindsight resembled a long row of dominos falling disgracefully on top of one another destroying everything in their path.

Like trust. And sexual attraction.

Okay that was definitely an exaggeration. 

This right here though, this is why you talk to Rose. Case and Point.

You aren’t sure why a business computer has Pesterchum, but it does, and you’re grateful to skip the whole ‘spend ten minutes downloading a chat service probably illegally onto a hotel chain’s business computer’ thing. This makes it all much easier, and faster. Which gives you less time to think.

A few clicks of the keys and the chat window is pulling up and your usual bright red text is clashing comfortingly with familiar pinkish purple.

turntechGodhead [TG]began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TG: sweet infantile jesus i am so glad youre on at midnight  
TT: Good to see you are still alive and certainly not on the news or in jail.  
TG: im on the news?!  
TT: No. I have not turned on the news today Dave. But curiosity has gotten the better of me ever since your phone stopped receiving text messages, or calls, or any other typical form of communication.   
TG: shit yeah have i got a story for you  
TG: ok so get this  
TG: dirk totally trashed my phone in the waffle house  
TG: i want you to picture a innocent sweet ass phone   
TG: aint doin nothing just mindin its own business   
TG: and then all of a sudden a giant ogre grabs a tree and just fucking shoves it up there  
TG: and then grabs a fucking container of maple syrup because ohoho the fork wasnt fuckin enough and the phone just gets drowwwnnneedddddd and its screaming and cryin and the ogre just laughs over his waffles  
TG: and  
TT: Dave.  
TG: what  
TT: Why did Dirk destroy your phone in the middle of a waffle house.  
TG: because hes a prick who thinks hes caught up in some bonnie and clyde meets the cold war spy shit or something  
TG: dudes paranoid and i suffer for it  
TG: greatly  
TT: Need I remind you of your current situation?  
TG: ok so its a little bonnie and clyde  
TG: but im clyde  
TT: You can both be Clyde  
TG: rose no offense but   
TT: Dave I am not implying that I’m Bonnie in this scenario regardless of the technicality that the police would consider me an accomplice to your crimes at this point.  
TG: i just had to check  
TT: No you didn’t.  
TG: ok  
TT: I am going to ask you though. Two days ago you were happy with Dirk and everything going on, relatively speaking, even by reading through your continuous shell of false security and humor veiled fear, you seemed okay.   
TG: well  
TG: yeah 

You stop for a moment, but it’s clear she keeps typing. Rose is explaining something and the more she types the more you don’t want to hear it. Because it’s Rose, and it’s going to be insightful, and you don't really want insightful right now. 

Things were fine. You got to rant about your phone. That’s all you wanted. 

But she continues to be insightful anyways.

TT: So either Dirk has given you incredibly bad news and done something legitimately horrible  
TT: or  
TT: And here is a thought I want you to deeply consider.  
TT: You are having an internal crisis as a result of your fragile sense of self that developed due to your lifelong codependency and hero worship of Bro. Now that you are own your own and realizing you cannot return to Bro’s side everything has hit you and its making you incredibly hard to get along with because you don’t trust your emotions but don’t know Dirk well enough for him to fully replace the role of Bro in your life.  
TG: yeah no im pretty sure dirk just gave me shitty news and then trashed my phone  
TT: You’re certain?  
TG: ….  
TG: yes

Yeah, its best to just stick to the phone thing. 

TT: Dave I’m going to say something entirely outside of my norm. I’m going to be blunt with you.  
TG: what the flyin fish out of hell was that before then  
TT: Sometimes you cannot really handle the truth.  
TG: wow  
TG: really rose  
TG: really  
TT: Dave all I am saying, is Dirk is likely playing you, yes. Its clear that he feels he has no control over the situation and so he seeks it wherever he can. Mainly through you.  
TT: Unfortunately when you don’t have control you do this.  
TT: What you’re doing now.  
TT: Freaking out.  
TG: im not freaking out  
TG: cant a guy rant to his friend about how his phone got destroyed  
TG: seems pretty fuckin reasonable to me rose  
TT: Certainly. But we both know that isn't the case.  
TT: Why do you think Dirk is so paranoid Dave?  
TG: cuz he created the situation  
TG: at least im pretty sure he did  
TT: The situation being Bro's arrest, and the road trip you are on.  
TG: yeah, well, his ai did.. I think  
TT: Right, his Artificial Intelligence program modelled after himself.  
TG: okay but that thing hates me so its not really him  
TT: Isn’t it?  
TG....oh fuck you  
TG: rose we’ve talked about this though like he isnt my brother  
TT: He is your brother Dave. He is essentially your twin. Or Bro’s twin.  
TT: I’m honestly trying to figure it out but I have someone else to talk to first.  
TG: i know but thats not what im even getting at. like weve talked about this shit before. dirk doesnt do the manipulative thing the same way.  
TG: hal planned this and dirks just  
TG: hes just trying to help  
TG: maybe hes manipulative a bit but hell ask if we wanna strife and there like boundaries and crap. He doesnt throw puppets in my face and he doesnt leave me alone for hours  
TG: or days  
TT: If you are referring to the incident I think you are, then it was 93 hours.  
TG: whatever i did fine  
TG: you dont need to make a big deal out of it  
TT: You did fine because you were terrified of what would happen if you werent.  
TT: Dave, you were eight and you made a dummy out of your own pillows to practice strifing with because you were convinced he was watching you and you'd get in trouble if you weren't practicing everyday.  
TG: drop it rose  
TT: You're right. We shouldn't speak ill of the incarcerated.  
TG: fuck off.

You couldn't believe she said that. This was Rose. Rose, who has literally helped you out every fucking time you needed help, and all she's doing is giving you shit and trash talking Bro. 

This isn't what you want. This isn't what you need right now. You want to calm down.

The thought passes your fingertips to just log off. You don't have a phone so it’s not like she could keep bothering you. The screen doesn't flash for a while, and you figure she’s just waiting for you to do something. Like a standoff. But it sucks and it goes too long. 

Long enough for you to think back to that week. To the sound of duct tape ripping as you fumble to make a human shaped dummy out of your pillows. It was the third day and you ran out of leftover pizza the night before. You still had noodles but the week before you had forgotten a knife in the microwave and kind of trashed it, so the only thing left to cook the noodles in was the stove, which you didn't know how to use. 

You remember exactly how you felt. Hungry, and then panicked. Because you realized back then maybe the microwave was the whole reason Bro left.

You just wanted to make it up to him. To prove you weren’t a fuck up.

You knew he had cameras everywhere, so he probably was watching. 

You just wanted to make him proud.

Rose didn't know what she was talking about.

Everything was fine when he got back.

He even bought a new microwave.

TT: Dave.  
TT: I Apologize.  
TT: Okay?  
TG: yeah whatever   
TG: im not mad  
TT: Okay Dave. If you say so.  
TT: Would you like to return to talking about Dirk?  
TG: i didnt grow up with him rose  
TG: i dont live with him  
TG: its totally different  
TT: Are you certain your ...attraction to him is not blinding you?  
TG: well it wasnt attraction that blinded me before so yeah im gonna say no  
TT: Hero worship is not all that different.  
TT: Nonetheless, There is a strong probability that you are biologically related Dirk and it is affecting the way you feel towards him.  
TG: well so are we so that doesn't prove anything  
TT: I think you are forgetting that one conversation last summer.  
TG: i  
TG: no  
TG: no I did not forget.  
TT: Yes you did.  
TG: well   
TT: Dave I think you actually might have a problem here.  
TG: what do you mean  
TT: I mean I think your history proves you might have a preference.  
TG: okay weve talked about this already i dont need to go over it again.   
TG: like weve covered these bases so many times the team is all out on the field and theres chaos everywhere and they wanna keep the game goin but shit like how can someone do a homerun when home has like five dudes on it. We cant climb a tower of bodies just for a homerun rose  
TT: Dave that analogy really got away from you  
TG: im under a lot of stress here  
TT: I know, poor thing.

There was a pause in your typing. That analogy really was fucked up. You have no excuse. A pile of bodies? Come on dude. That was both cryptic and uncomfortably sexual. But Rose knew what you meant, she knew probably in a way similar to how Dirk knew.

Rose must have noticed something was wrong, because she didn’t wait for you to respond. She just started typing and the familiar purple font appeared on the screen.

TT: Dave I don’t know what is going on exactly, but I know enough of the pieces to suggest shortening this trip of yours.  
TG: what are you getting at lalonde  
TT: If you try to drive all the way to New York, this situation might only get worse.  
TT: Where are you now?  
TG: uh.. outside of shreveport la  
TT: In other words you still have 1500 miles to go  
TG: about 22 hours last i checked  
TT: Was the plan to do 10 hours a day?  
TG: more or less. we only managed 4 today though because of rain  
TT: Can you convince Dirk to go to Chicago?  
TG: why would we go to chicago  
TT: I’ve got a.. sibling there. She knows Dirk.  
TG: dirk doesnt know anyone rose hes a loner freak that way.  
TT: So are you.  
TG: touche.   
TG: but the only person dirk really talks to are hal and this girl roxy  
TT: I wasn’t aware you knew of Roxy.  
TG: shit thats who youre talkin about?  
TT: Yes. Have him talk to her if you can.  
TG: youre related?!  
TT: I’m still figuring out to what extent.  
TG: what the hell does that mean rose  
TG: what the hell is going on  
TT: Nevermind. I’ll just ask her to talk to Dirk. Just see if you can convince him to listen.  
TT: I’ll meet you in Chicago on Friday.   
TG: rose wait a sec  
TG: hold the phone  
TT: And Dave?  
TT: As much as I hate to say this, give Dirk another chance. I imagine he’s feeling even more alone than you are right now. If you are correct about him, that is.

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

“Fuckin hell Rose.” 

The shit you had to ask was really important. Like, if Rose has a sibling, does that mean you’ve got another long lost relative you didn’t know about? And furthermore, just how many fucking people are related to you, and why do they all know each other and somehow you don’t? 

This was like Sci-Fi level kind of shitty, and as you sit there listening to the silence of the dusty business lounge, you come to realize at last, you should probably return to your room.

Only now you'll be returning much more confused, and no less frustrated than when you first left.

\-----> [Be the Damp Dude in the Room]

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

TG: dirk come to chicago  
TT: Hello Roxy.  
TT: No.  
TG: get outta the fucking shower and come to chicago  
TG: outta the shower and into my life  
TT: The shower has been off for at least five minutes at this point.  
TG: chicago the city and not the band just in case you were confused  
TG: shhhhhh  
TG: the metaphorical shower that is dirks mess of a life  
TG: get out of it  
TT: Why would I go to Chicago. I thought you were in New York?  
TG: you would go bc that is where the party is at duh  
TG: (a.k.a. me I am the party)  
TT: Why are you in Chicago? What are you doing now  
TG: cannot reveal all my secrets to people who are not here now can i  
TT: It’s a convention isn't it.  
TT: Another one of your nerd conventions.  
TG: says the guy who has def been to one bf  
TG: and fyi no its not  
TT: Hacker meetups count as nerd conventions Roxy.  
TG: maybe it is or maybe it is something even better  
TG: like wow dirk this is great you should be here but you are not and i cannot even explain how cool it is  
TG: way cooler than you obvs but by how much  
TG: we just dont know  
TT: Your IP address is telling AR that you're talking to me from a hotel.  
TG: a really sweet hotel that is just waiting for some cool douchebag in dumb glasses to occupy it  
TG: that is you btw  
TT: Shit then I guess I can't go considering theres two cool douchebags in awesome glasses that need a bed  
TG: lucky you its almost like i have access to two hotel rooms whoa  
TG: one for roxy one for douchebags  
TT: You do not have the foresight to rent two hotel rooms.  
TT: I know you don't.  
TG: i know some people  
TG: who thought maybe i should  
TG: since you are coming to visit me obvs  
TT: You know some people.  
TT: Who people.  
TT: I mean, who are these people. Roxy.  
TG: oh you know  
TG: living breathing types of beings  
TG: who thought it might rock my socks off to have two deglassed dudes hangin out with me for awhile  
TG: *beglassed  
TT: So this person knows us?  
TG: they know people  
TG: and you are people  
TG: i mean mostly  
TT: ...Its one of Dave's friends, isn't it  
TT: How do you know Dave's friends?  
TG: i have my ways  
TG: my ways that are all the way over here with me in chicago  
TG: where you are not  
TG: but will be soon  
TT: Fine  
TT: I'll regret it.  
TT: But fine  
TG: shhh you never regret our adventures  
TG: ill see you soon ; )  
TT: 8 hours to sleep and 13 to drive. Maybe add in 3 to eat.  
TG: dont eat too much dinner and drinks on me when you boys get here  
TT: Well in that case  
TG: or dinner and drinks on the hotel but they dont know that  
TT: Shit  
TT: Ok Dave just stomped in so I'm going to let you chat with AR now  
TG: score for me pity for you  
TT: Hell yes its a score for you  
TG: ; )  
TT: He left and there is a 68% chance they are saying something stupid.  
TT: If its Dave talking its a 99.987999 % chance but my statistics might be biased.  
TG: that stat is bs bb but nonetheless tru

 

\-------> [Be the Confused Coolkid] 

“Hey,” You say, near 1 am, to a Dirk who is still very much awake. The heavy hotel door shuts behind you with a click. He might have looked up at you, but it’s tough to tell through his shades. Dirk’s lips are thin, like he’s been thinking, but the phone in his hand makes you a little bit hopeful.

“I talked to Rose, shes uh, doing good.” 

“Mm.” He keeps typing on his phone, and you still aren’t sure if he’s even noticed you come in. But then you realize its Dirk, so of course he did, and he might just be ignoring you. He probably is.

“I know you said not to talk to people, or at least I kind of got that impression from the way you destroyed my phone, which by the way, I still don’t have one. Just reminding you. You know, for future replacement opportunities. ...yeah, but its Rose so I figured you know what, yeah, I’m gonna talk to her. She’s chill,” you say, testing the water because maybe Dirk really is ignoring you.

“Mm,” he says again, and frankly you don’t know what else to say.

For a moment you remember that you’re angry, or you should be, and that now would be a good chance to address some shit. But talking to Rose has a strange after effect on you that makes it a bit harder to be a dumb ass. 

That, and talking to Rose gave you a new objective in this suck ass mission called your life. 

Chicago. A place you never thought of kindly, and yet here your brain was, imagining the grimey city as if it were the last beacon of humanity in some cheap ass zombie flick. 

Although remembering your thought from earlier, it’s more like the final scene of a Sci-Fi drama.

Maybe there'll be robots.

You kind of hope there's robots.

“I think we should go to Chicago,” you blurt out and finally Dirk looks up. 

Guess he was paying attention after all. 

“What?”

“Chicago. Yeah. You know, pizza and hot dogs and... pizza.” There really was nothing good about Chicago was there.

“I-” he starts, “... no, actually.. ok,” he concludes.

“...Okay?”

“I was thinking the same thing earlier. In the shower.”

“...Uh... huh. “ Bullshit. “Might I ask why?”

“I think better in the shower?”

“Well first, thats a lie. You sulk in the shower. Second, I think you’re only suggesting it because Roxy likely is texting you and telling you to visit.”

“...Rose.”

“Rose. Which, by the way, you did not mention had a… friend in common with you.” 

“It never came up.”

“Because you never wanted it to.”

You could bring up the elephant in your brain, the one about how there’s a Jerry Springer style family reunion in the works, or how Dirk seems to be orchestrating it, but you don’t.

“Why did you leave earlier?” Dirk says, changing the subject. You’re used to that.

“To talk to Rose because I was pissed at you dude, which, come to think of it, I still am. But I think we should go to Chicago anyways. “

“Why are you mad? I told you what you wanted.”

For a moment Dirk’s voice almost sounds confused. Like he genuinely did not understand why you were angry. Maybe he really doesn’t understand. 

“Gee, I don’t know Dirk, maybe it’s because you confirmed that you were directly responsible for fucking up my life as much as you are for saving it, or whatever you want to call this.”

“I didn’t do it Dave, I told you Hal-”

“Your Auto Responder, which is based off of you, who responds to you, who generally asks for your consent, and who you give approval to, yes, I know. Hal was the one who did it but it’s still fucking you Dirk.”

He’s quiet for a really long time. Dirk’s skin is red from the shower, and his hair is flat and clinging to his face and for the first time since you stepped in, you actually look at the guy in front of you. How his pruned fingers have stopped texting and now just cling to the side of his phone. How his shoulders look heavy.

The dude in front of you really doesn't look like some manipulative monster.

You must have been exaggerating earlier. Blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

“You hungry?” he asks suddenly and it doesn’t really snap your attention back like it should. 

“Uh... yeah I guess I could go for something,” you say, eyes finally pulling away and toward the dingy carpet. Your stomach grumbles and you realize it has been like a solid quarter of a day since you ate anything. 

“Good,” he concludes and the next thing you know there’s a phone up to his ear and Dirk’s ordering a large pie of glory from the Dominos three blocks down. 

You aren’t quite sure what happened. Like someone put a pause on the TV, but whatever train you were on before seems to have derailed, and now its heading toward pizza and something much calmer. 

It was weird.

No. Wait.

It wasn't.

It was familiar.

Because Bro would do the same thing. Whenever you couldn't control your emotions.

When you couldn't calm down.

Whenever things weren't okay.

Its 2:15 and your anger has remained subdued for now. Locked away and hopefully done for the night.

Maybe it was because Chicago made you think of pizza, or the fact your stomach was growling, which was also a likely response to the mentions of Chicago. But whatever the reason, now your ass was seated on the bed waiting for the delivery man to arrive. Dirk sat beside you, still on his phone and still quiet. You think maybe he hoped ordering pizza would cheer you up, but it didn’t. You were still confused, and the weight of everything just seemed to keep building. But you got the message, so you kept quiet.

It sucked being mad at Dirk. But every time the thought of Bro found its way into your weakened, confused brain it kind of made everything hurt. Before, looking at Dirk, strifing, fucking, whatever, it all kind of made the pain hurt a bit less. 

Now it was all connected, like a bird’s nest soup of pain and suffering. The kind where if you tried to swallow another bit of sorrow and self pity the branches would just scratch their little way all the way down your esophagus.

Even worse was the fact you still were looking at him as if he was some form of relief. Even with the anger, the mistrust, even with the shitshow and the birdsoup, he was still … Dirk. Sitting next to you. Way too quiet.

You groan, frustrated, and forget it was an actual vocalized thing.

That the obnoxious, loud, pained sound actually formed and was birthed by your own treacherous goddamn throat.

Now there’s a pair of orange eyes looking at you, just over the rim of cheesy anime shades. 

You swallow and quickly have to figure out how to respond. 

“This is fucked up and you know it.” 

So much for being done for the night. It isn’t the best explanation, but somehow it’s the best way to gather your thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“I think you’re making it more complicated than it has to be,” he says, and yeah, so what, maybe you are. You probably are making it more complicated.

“Have you realized we keep fighting this entire time?” 

“We usually fight Dave.”

“I don’t mean strifing and you damn well know it.”

“You’ve been mad at me since the Waffle House, it hasn’t been that long. Not even a day,” he says, and it reminds you of Rose.

It reminds you of Bro and you almost want to say sorry. 

“Doesn’t it bother you though?”

There’s no power behind it. No playing it cool. You’ve been too tired for that lately. Now you just want an answer. Something that feels like it isn’t being sugar coated in humor and lies and avoidance techniques.

But that was too much for Dirk right now, apparently. Because he just shrugged and then popped his neck. 

“It’s you.”

It’s you he says. It’s you. 

He reminds you of Rose again. What she said earlier. How this was all just you being codependent and being unable to deal with the shitshow around you. How you should go easy on him. 

“This isn’t my fault.” 

You argue anyways, forgetting that wasn’t what the two of you were actually talking about at all.

There's a lot going on right now.

“Dave I never...meant for you to think this was your fault. That’s kind of the purpose of this whole thing,” he explains, and it makes things worse for the moment. “I meant-”

“The purpose of this whole thing, this /thing/… this road trip you mean? This situation with Bro? With the police? What fucking situation are you talking about man, because honestly, you’ve got a lot of situations and I’m losing track.”

You’re ranting. It’s dumb. It’s really dumb. You want to stop but you also kind of have this weird feeling in the corners of your eyes and that’s not a good sign.

“Dave, dude, why are you so mad?” Dirk says like its actually bothering him. Looking at him all you can think about is what he’s not saying. How he’s probably looking into all of this like Rose would, how he’s probably two steps ahead of you and how he’s wondering. 

But no. He's not manipulative. Not in that way.

But he is. 

For fucks sake why can't you come to a conclusion? Why isn't this easy?

You don’t answer. Not for a while. Something keeps trying to click in your head. Like a light switch that wanted to go off, but the bulb was dead. Or someone had stolen the bulb. Or replaced the good one with an already dead one.

“I don't... I don't know," you say. "Let’s just go to bed.” 

“We’re still waiting on the pizza,” he reminds you. 

It was true. You were still hungry and pizza still sounded good. But today had already been so long and you just wanted a break. You wanted to restart, forget everything, and kiss Dirk without all the baggage weighing you down and stealing your libido. 

“I’m just tired Dirk.”

“...Why do I get the feeling a nap won’t fix that?”

“Because it won’t.”

The fact he doesn’t suggest something like a late night blow job to cheer you up, and doesn’t even try to find some crappy reality show on the TV, gives you the impression Dirk’s tired too.

You can hear him typing. Kind of. He’s being so quiet, but he has to be talking to Roxy. Or someone.

Maybe his fucking A.I.

“Dave?” he says after a while, and it doesn’t really sound like a question. 

“What?”

“Don’t kiss me… not until you trust me again.”

The words held a weight, and suddenly your heart was in your throat and you didn’t know why. It was kind of like those panic attacks you got as a kid, where your heartbeat made your throat cold and you couldn’t really breathe, even though you could

It was too much for you to answer, or think of the words, or be angry. 

Once again Dirk got to the single fucking center of it all before you had, and you were realizing you didn’t trust him. Not at all. And now you’re alone in a hotel room, on a road trip, and you’re stuck and you don’t trust him even though you did.

You really did.

You really want to.

You just don’t right now.

There’s a knock on the door, and as Dirk gets up, you don’t want to see him, you don’t want him to see you. So as they talk, and Dirk pays and shuts the door, you don’t listen. You just roll over and burrow into the covers and figure the pizza can wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the damage might have already been done, I want to clarify this is not an evil Bro fic by any means. It'll all get cleared up in time. But nothing is actually as awful as it seems. With the exception of Dave's emotional state.


End file.
